The bullfrogs croak in fear tonight,
foretelling winter's coming white,
prepare to burrow out of sight.
Along the creek where reeds are high
a cold, north wind begins to sigh,
evokes more tremors of goodbye.
That constant dirge of what will be
conjures an icy memory,
a constant thought consuming me.
Before December shows its face
and drives me to my cozy place,
I, too, shall fear its wild embrace.
Published on November 1st, 2022
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